


Golden Knight

by clearinghouse



Series: BioShock AU [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adorable Sherlock, Alternate Universe, BAMF John Watson, De-Aged Sherlock Holmes, Dubious Science, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Protectiveness, Rapture (Bioshock), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearinghouse/pseuds/clearinghouse
Summary: BioShock AU, set in the early 1960s. John Watson is a Big Daddy, one of the augmented soldiers of the underwater dystopia of Rapture. As a Big Daddy, John protects a Little Sister, someone altered to remain forever a child and produce a valuable substance called ADAM. John’s Little Sister is unique: his name is Sherlock Holmes, and he wasn’t always the child he appears to be now.
(No familiarity with the BioShock universe is necessary to follow the story.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The City of Rapture: A massive underwater city built in the early 1950s, which fell into chaos and ruin after a civil war. The government collapsed, and Rapture has become a living hell that has been mostly abandoned by its citizenry. 
> 
> Big Daddies: Adults abducted by the government of Rapture and engineered to use guns, bio-mechanical weapons called plasmids, and the brute strength of their fully-armoured bodies to defend their Little Sisters from threats. They remain in Rapture, protecting their Little Sisters from the surviving ADAM addicts who stay and hunt them.
> 
> Little Sisters: Young girls who were also abducted by the government, and altered to forever remain children. They are capable of producing ADAM. Little Sisters were brainwashed to see the world with rose-tinted vision, so that the horrors of Rapture would not destroy them. Because of this, each of them calls her Big Daddy by the innocent name of “Mr Bubbles.”

John looked fondly into the bedroom and leaned on the doorframe. There, soundly asleep, was the young man he had been irrevocably bound to protect for several years, of which John had lost count. This was supposed to be the one he protected, the one who would call him—

“Mr Bubbles?” Sherlock blinked awake, and smiled with embarrassment at being looked upon by the older fellow at the door.

A shiver of loyal fire shimmered through John’s body. He was the Big Daddy of the only male Little Sister ever. He was the one who protected Sherlock as they did good deeds together in the hell of Rapture.

Like the bodies of the other children who had been subjected to a similar fate, Sherlock’s body produced ADAM in one way or another. As Sherlock’s protector, John was modified to be inhumanly strong, but Sherlock’s modifications had shrunk him to a child’s size and left him stunted in that form, forever young, though not quite as young as other Little Sisters. This had been done because only children were able of producing ADAM. Sherlock would always require a guardian to protect him and nurture him.

John knew that he and Sherlock, two people who had been so heavily pair-bonded together, would be linked together for life. This kind of conditioning was typical for Big Daddy and their Little Sister. Any substantial separation between them for a long period of time would spell instant doom for them both. 

But John didn’t protect Sherlock for the sake of his own survival. Actually, Sherlock wasn’t a child. Or, more accurately, he hadn’t been before his transformation. He had been John’s dear husband, back when the two of them had first come to the city of Rapture in the hopes of finding a place allowing them a proper marriage. That was before they had been two of the first victims of the experiments done in the underwater city.

“Sorry if I woke you. I meant only to come by and wish you good night.” John approached and sat at the edge of Sherlock’s bed. This was, of course, a temporary bed—a part of an abandoned home of some family that had long since fled. Usually, Sherlock liked to sleep in the cage of metal bars that was secured on the back of John’s Alpha Series armoured suit. Even when John went swimming out into the ocean, Sherlock was content to slumber in that cage, breathing in the water as if it were air, as Little Sisters were able to. Tomorrow, however, was a special day; tonight, Sherlock deserved a sleep in a normal bed. 

Just for tomorrow, they would ignore the perils and promises of this magnificently horrific place, which fascinated Sherlock’s wit with its mysteries, tempted John’s compassion with its victims, and was, as Sherlock put it, a magical place full of angels and unicorns and fluffy clouds.

It was a very strange way to live. Even so, it was the one remaining place in the world where they could be together.

“Would you stay?” The familiar, small form of his husband rubbed his own arm shyly. “I’m fine by myself… but I’d rather be with you, Mr B.”

“Of course, Sherlock. I’ll watch over you and keep the bed bugs away.” That was what John did every day. John was ever vigilant over his Little One. “Do you know what tomorrow is?” He received nothing but a cute head shake in response to his question. “It’s the day of our anniversary.”

“Oh! The day you became my golden knight in shining armour?”

John wanted to cry, he was so in love. “Yes, that’s right, though I’m hardly a knight…” 

“You’re my brave shiny golden knight! That makes me very happy, Mr B.” Sherlock nodded eagerly, but he still appeared something like uncomfortable.

There was a deep, primal longing within John to hug his kindhearted Sherlock tightly, and never let go. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I’m…” It was unfair how distractingly adorable Sherlock was when he was being generous. “I’m ready, for, um, you know…”

“Oh!” John managed to laugh in a way that sounded soft and not excited. “Are you thinking about giving me ADAM?” Like any other Big Daddy, John needed ADAM to survive. “I have plenty still, I assure you. You can go back to sleep.”

Sherlock glanced away. “Did you say, it’s the eve of our anniversary?” 

“That’s right.”

There was an anxious bob in Sherlock’s slim throat. “Even if you’re not hungry, um, would you please do it for me? Is that okay? Like the first day we… moved here?”

“Moved here, to Rapture?”

“No…” Sherlock shyly covered his mouth with his sheets. “Moved here, into this house.”

John looked around. For the first time, he saw the home that he and his husband had made together, so long ago. There was even a picture of London on top of a high shelf, and jackknife transfixed into a pile of letters beside it. How had he not noticed? Well, that was simple. He’d been too focused on his wonderful little Sherlock, as always.

Sherlock’s voice was small and timid. “I… really liked what you did for me, then…”

It came back in a flash. They had just been wed earlier that day. John had guided his beloved to their new bed, laid him down, and kissed him from head, to toe, all over him, if only to see the beautiful shivers and hear the heart-pounding moans of his dear, precious detective, a lonely man who had deserved a fresh start and a perfect life. Despite the raging love that had been coursing through his veins, John had been gentle, seeing only to his dear Sherlock’s satisfaction and comfort. 

Today, he would again love his Sherlock that same way. He would show his beloved the depth of their unbreakable bond, which nothing of this earth could render asunder.

“I would love to do that for you,” John whispered sincerely with a cavalierly smile. “Relax, please?”

That only made Sherlock even more anxious. The Little One breathed quickly.

John moved to the bottom of the bed and rolled up the sheets, stopping at the top of Sherlock’s child-size trousers. With the upmost delicacy, he unbuttoned them, and gingerly felt up the heavy bulge in the white underwear. An electric rush of heat descended through John’s own body, filling him with a weightless joy.

“Ah…” Sherlock squeaked and then bit his lip. No matter how many times they did this together, John could never resist the imploring little cries that his husband gave.

“Sherlock, it’s okay. I love you.” John shifted his companion’s underwear down, but was then startled by the green tint he saw. “Oh, you made so much ADAM today! I had no idea. Does having so much cause you pain?” John leaned over and caressed Sherlock’s blushing cheek affectionately. 

“No, um, it’s all right, I… I’m sorry…” Sherlock was so overcome with happiness that he began to cry. John knew, it was the happiness his little angel felt whenever he was useful. “I really like when my tummy makes you something yummy to eat, and, and…”

“Sh, relax for me now. Everything is fine. I will take care of you.” John moved further up to kiss some of his husband’s tears away. In truth, Sherlock’s words had been too arousing for him to bear; rather, he wanted to focus on Sherlock. With one hand, he stroked down the soft sheets covering Sherlock’s stomach, over the rolled-up portion, to the bare pelvis, down to the smooth genitals. John massaged the area with his hand, to bring his pretty Sherlock to hardness.

Sherlock shuddered and trembled all over, which made John shake as well. Sherlock clutched John’s arm, breathed heavily, and sobbed in his sweet, high-pitched voice.

John couldn’t believe how overwhelming this still was to him. The throbbing, pressing warmth in his own abdomen made him groan slightly. Ignoring it, he bent his head, making sure not to alarm his dearest by moving too fast. He tenderly sank onto the growing length, while he simultaneously snuck two devoted hands up Sherlock’s shirt, to rub his palms into the abdomen in just the right spots…

Sherlock whimpered with pleasure and bucked up, as a trifle of the green ADAM began to leak prematurely from him. John swallowed as he moved passionately back and forth, feeling himself grow stronger and more exhilarated with the thrill of loving his small, bashful, perfect Sherlock. Soon, his husband would release all his ADAM, which was John’s lifeblood. John could wait with all the patience in the world until then.

**

In the largest picture in the house, in the largest room in the house, was John’s best evidence that Sherlock had not always been so strangely pale, had not always had such bewitchingly bright eyes, and had not always been like a child. It was an old photograph of the two of them at their wedding. They could be seen holding each other, hand in hand. John seemed delighted, Sherlock even more so. They had shared quite the challenging marriage since then.

“Surprise!” Sherlock’s hands covered John’s eyes as the Little One hooked around his head. “I got you, Mr B! Guess who it is!”

John smiled serenely. The feeling of warmth that his husband gave him when they were this close together was the feeling of comfort and paradise. “Is it… my prince?”

“Uh huh! Are you ready for a Happy Anniversary hug?” Sherlock jumped off nimbly, and stood loyally at attention when John turned to him. The young man raised his small arms. “Would you hold me?”

Such cuteness as this could swiftly drive a man to impropriety. John did his best to master himself. “Another hug? Very well.” John lifted up Sherlock, and cradled him like a baby to his sternum. While Sherlock hugged him affectionately, John kissed the top of his head with fondness. 

“You’d be softer without your armour on,” Sherlock said. It was a fair argument, as Sherlock himself wore only a shirt and overalls today.

“What kind of knight would I be, if I went about with my armour?” John replied. “Although, I hope you’ll forgive me for removing my helmet.” He brought Sherlock to gently sit on their old couch, and briefly knelt before him. “Would you like an anniversary kiss to go with that hug?”

The Little One hummed in approval.

Guilt was an emotion that, though it had not lost its power over John since Sherlock’s transformation, no longer inhibited John’s actions of affection. He leaned forward, held Sherlock by his hair, and kissed him chastely on the lips. When he pulled away, it stunned him, as it had since long ago, that Sherlock was almost shuddering from the gesture.

“I love you, Mr Bubbles!” Sherlock was always so sweet.

John allowed himself the shame of a contented smile. “I… love you, too…”

Giddy with delight, Sherlock embraced his protector once more, around the neck.

It was a magical feeling. Never before this man had John felt so warm. He would keep his husband-boy safe, and cherish him always.

Alas, in the chaos of Rapture, there is no such thing as safety.

An explosion wracked the closest plaza, sending shockwaves to their abode. Without hesitation, John threw his charge upon his back, stood at the side of the closed doorway, and armed himself with a pistol and drill. He’d placed friendly autonomous sentry machines to guard the entrance earlier, but he couldn’t rely on them; those sentries were easily hacked.

The danger came to him, in the form of footsteps. They were unusually light and regular steps, not at all like the frantic, erratic pacing of deranged ADAM addicts.  

John heard Sherlock whisper his own observations to himself. “They’re being careful,” he said. “Cautious. They’re new here.” 

When the steps passed by their entrance, they halted, before continuing on elsewhere.

John wondered what sort of person this might be. ADAM addicts were not usually clever enough to be wary of sentries, though of course Sherlock’s smell attracted them to such a degree that even cleverness would make no difference. “Who goes there?” John called to mysterious source of the footsteps. “Take care not to approach!”

“Hello?” A man shouted back. “Are you real, or another video diary left by one of the poor souls of this place?”

“Don’t worry, we are real, sir.” Relieved but not yet fully trusting, John prepared himself to deactivate the sentries, to allow this new man to approach them.

“By God, I did not believe there were still sane people trapped here!”

They were not trapped. “That’s right,” John lied. “As you can see, we are defending ourselves with sentries, since we have no weapons with which to fight off the addicts.” He checked his remote control for his sentries to view their surveillance cameras. What he saw through their mechanical eyes was a completely normal, nervous fellow, dressed better than most ADAM addicts and not at all corrupted like one. The man’s face was not visible. He had a green hand and an electrified hand at the ready, as well as some firearm on his back—all of these were weapons he must have picked up along the way. He had a gash on the arm of his attire, but otherwise looked to have an enduring constitution.

“Ah, in such a helpless circumstance, I would do no less,” the man replied. “How you’ve managed to survive with so few tools is beyond me. I do have spare weapons on me, which might improve matters for you.”  

This was good to hear; this stranger was not asking for any of their ADAM. 

“Of course,” the man added, “I would greatly appreciate accomplices on my way out of this forsaken place, too.”

“He sounds nice,” Sherlock said innocently.

That was proof enough for John. Sherlock was very perceptive; he had never led him astray before. John deactivated his sentry machines. “Very well, the sentries are off. It is safe to pass.” Still ever vigilant, John opened the door and stood at the threshold without letting Sherlock down. Though neither John nor Sherlock could be easily damaged by bullets or blades, John would go to any length to keep Sherlock from the pain that those weapons could inflict.

The man walked around the corner, and immediately, he yelped in alarm. “Stay back, friends! There’s a Big Daddy!” He raised his green hand and shot a luminescent mess at John’s face.

“Mr Bubbles!” Sherlock cried.

John blinked and staggered back a step. He’d been standing in baffled amazement, because he had recognised this person, but no longer. Something was happening to him. What was happening to him?

“Mr Bubbles! Are you okay?” A small voice behind him sobbed with worry, while an equally small hand patted John on the head. 

He had to protect this person. His Little One. Protect his Little One.

“Mr B, why are your eyes glowing so green—?”

His child in tow, John suddenly jumped up and drilled precisely through the ceiling, causing a cave-in that blocked the hallway and created a new opening in from the now-ruined floor above. This, of course, left behind a very surprised compatriot. The stranger understood that his “Hypnotize Big Daddy” plasmid had not worked against the evil Big Daddy as it should have, and he would now have to find another way into the home where his new friends were still trapped.

John grabbed his boy off himself and carried him back into the sanctuary, to where he could make his Little One happiest. He would protect and nurture his precious beloved for all time.

While in his arms, his boy looked up at him with so much kindness and concern. 

“My Little One,” John whispered passionately, and suddenly he remembered his treasure’s name. “My lovely, beautiful Sherlock.” He brought his boy into the bedroom and placed him on the bed, on elbows and knees. “I will protect you.”

“Mr…?”

Instantly John grabbed the two tops of Sherlock’s overalls and swiftly pulled them completely away, thereby removing all but Sherlock’s shirt and briefs. 

The boy was startled. “Oh… I’d like that, but my tummy’s not full yet. I’m really sorry…”

John pinched the bottom of the briefs between thumb and finger, and pulled it to the side. “It is not for your ADAM’s sake that I protect you,” he whispered, as he gently, very gently, rubbed the revealed head of the soft length within the underwear.

Sherlock winced with surprise and shy arousal. “Mr B, I’m sorry, I… Mm…” John was rubbing him a little more intently now. Sherlock slowly hardened in John’s rousing grasp, and very sheepishly rocked into it. “That’s nice, Mr B…”

In the recesses of his mind, John almost remembered that he had sworn to himself never to take advantage of Sherlock this way. He had resolved never to be anything but the perfect gentleman in his young husband’s presence—never to throw himself, particularly his strong and armoured self, on his dear Sherlock and tease him like this. Yet he couldn’t think properly just now; unlike last night, he hadn’t even remembered to remove his gloves this time. 

He did, however, recall that he had never done anything of this sort while his Little One was on all fours, facing the bed. The pain of such a thought stung the unbridled affection in John’s lust-filled heart.

“Big Daddy…” Sherlock moaned weakly. He sounded so shaken and nervous, and yet there was trust in that voice as well.

John would protect him, always. He lovingly hooked his free arm under Sherlock and pulled him back, to sit relatively upright in John’s waiting lap. Still stroking his Little One, John tilted Sherlock’s chin up with his head against John’s shoulder, so that John could see those shining, childlike eyes. “Do I frighten you?” John asked, but he hardly understood his own words. He only knew that he had to ask.

It was incredible to see; Sherlock was so kind that he was actually smiling up at him. “No, you’re so nice to me, I… Oh…” The boy’s ache twitched in John’s hand, and his young face was overcome with the satisfaction being administered to him. “Big Daddy…” Sherlock moaned, and held onto John’s arm.

John breathed with emotions that he couldn’t comprehend. “I’ll take care of you. Little One, please, how can I take care of you?”

Without warning, Sherlock wept profoundly. Though there was happiness in the tears, there was a great deal of sadness also.

That was acutely painful for John. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

“I’m so grateful, Mr B, that you stayed with me, when I became small!”

John stared down at his beloved, startled. “Sherlock?” A growing sense of guilt pervaded his atmosphere, and the dangerous green in his eyes diminished. “Of course I stayed with you…”

His poor Sherlock shook his head desperately. “I used to be stronger, right? I would protect you like you protected me… ah…” He whimpered at the moment that part of him was tinted the faintest shade of green. John continued to stroke him. “I was so useful, and I was strong enough to protect you… ah… but now I’m weak, nothing but a Little Sister who will never grow up…”

“What the hell are you talking about? You are the man I married.” John brought his spare hand to Sherlock’s hand, and held it resolutely as his other hand worked. “Why do you think you’re weak? Aren’t you as brilliant as you always were? Together, you and me help the survivors we come across, and even forgetting them, I can still depend upon you to stay with me. You make me stronger, just by being here with me. However small you are made to be, Sherlock, you will never change. You will always be the one I need to be with.”

Sherlock’s glowing eyes twinkled with hope, but he was still distressed. It pulled at John’s heart in more than one way to see the boy’s hips gyrate from John’s own force while Sherlock shared his innermost insecurities with his guardian. “But I shouldn’t be so small, so shy and weak—”

John couldn’t bear to hear another self-deprecating word. He covered Sherlock’s mouth with his gloved palm, pulled Sherlock flush against himself, and murmured down to him as he continued to rub, “Forgive my roughness, please, but I must make myself clear. I  _want_ to have you in my hand, to feel you tremble in my arms. No matter what happens to us, Sherlock, don’t be afraid. You’ll always be my dear, sweet, brilliant husband!” He pumped as hard as he reasoned would feel pleasant.

With a muffled cry, the young man bucked up helplessly in John’s grip and quivered all over. Only a trifle of ADAM secreted out of him, and not very strongly. It flowed peacefully down Sherlock’s thighs, in a tempting path for John to imagine licking, even though what he wanted more was to hold his Sherlock tight and never let go.

Patiently, John soothed his husband through his release. Then he laid him down the correct way along the bed, taking great care never to leave his side. John was melting inside, for all the love that he had for Sherlock made his heart beat and his veins rush at a hot, impassioned pace.

The deep, accepting joy in Sherlock’s relaxed features made John want to laugh for the sake of sharing his own profound delight at the sight. His small face was still blushing heavily. “Mr Bubbles, Big Daddy,” he said anxiously, “would you, um…”

“What is it that you need?”

“I don’t need anything, but, um…” Sherlock swallowed. His feet crossed over each other nervously. “Would you… be inside me, like we used to, just once more?” 

Instantly, John was breathless. “What?” 

They hadn’t done anything like that in such a long time. He hadn’t wanted to hurt his little Sherlock, or to be anything less than the perfect, unselfish gentleman. In deciding that he would never penetrate Sherlock again, had he made the wrong choice? Had he—despite what he had just told Sherlock about Sherlock being the same as he ever was—had he simply been too afraid to go that far with the child form of his partner?

“I’m sorry!” Sherlock averted his eyes in shame. “I’m too small and weak now for that! We don’t have to, never mind—!”

Quick as could be, John settled gracefully above Sherlock and kissed him unhurriedly on the lips, then on the forehead, as he intertwined both sets of their fingers together. “Would you rather be on the bottom,” John asked kindly, having now fully forgotten about the stranger who had set this whole mess into motion, “or on the top?”

“Um…” Sherlock’s voice was quiet as a whisper. “I’m okay… where I am…”

John moved back, sat upright, and began removing his armour until he was in nothing but the tight black clothing underneath. The metal plates fell easily around him on the bed. He tried to go slowly and patiently, so as to not frighten his beloved. 

But terror soon glinted in Sherlock’s eyes. When John was finished and finally approached him, with the gentlest of manners, Sherlock retreated and blurted, “Wait… I change my mind!”

The crushing wave that attacked John’s soul hurt him worse than the most biting plasmid. His Sherlock was horrified by him. His boy was rejecting him. “Sherlock?”

“I’m so sorry. I can’t do it.” The defeat in Sherlock’s features was painfully disheartening to John. “I’m really too small! It won’t be right. It will hurt. I just can’t…”

“Sherlock?”

Embarrassed, Sherlock shyly hooked his arms around his legs, and nodded. “Mr B, I’ll never be big enough again,” he whispered pitifully. He seemed even sadder than before, and continued to cry with self-loathing.

The longing to make Sherlock feel better, and the parallel disappointment in himself at failing to do so, tore at John mercilessly. “Don’t be silly! You’re not too small! As I said, you’re not weak. You are absolutely fine…” John sat by his Little One, and sighed. “Oh, Sherlock!” 

Big, luminous eyes looked back at him with interest.

“Have you always felt this bad about yourself?” John grimaced bitterly. “It’s true that you will never be any bigger than this, not after what they did to you. Is that so bad? I was the one who chose this place. I was the one who thought we might have a better life here. Was I so wrong after all? Did I cause something so bad to happen to you?” With an air of regret, John touched Sherlock’s cheek delicately, and softly bestowed upon it a kiss. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault that you’ll be a kid forever.” 

“It’s okay, Mr B…”

“No, you don’t have to let me off so easily. I only wanted to be with you in a place that would allow it. Just to be someplace where we could get married, and not have to hide it. I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen to you. I never imagined that they’d all go crazy and put you in a child’s body with a child’s vision.” John bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Sherlock, I’m so sorry. Things were so simple for you before you met me in London.” He tenderly caressed Sherlock’s neck and kissed his hair. “But I still love you, just the same, okay?” John took one of Sherlock’s small hands in his own, and held it up with his own, palm to palm, before grasping it tightly and pulling Sherlock to himself for an embrace. “I have always loved you, and no one can take that away from us.” 

Grateful but still unsure of himself, Sherlock sank into John’s hug. “Mr Bubbles, you’re so warm.” The muffled words pierced deeply into John’s heart. Sherlock’s bare legs bent and rested trustingly against John.

John felt the rush in his veins struggle against the feelings bursting inside him. Sherlock’s closeness to him never failed to stir his darker desires, but Sherlock’s trust in him compelled him to keep control of himself. “If you never see the surface again,” John said, “it will be my fault. If I can’t love you the same way I was able to when you were a big bloke, then that’s my own damn fault, too…” John didn’t want to discuss this anymore. He was beginning to make himself doubt whether Sherlock had not truly become diminished due to John’s actions. “But never mind that… Do you remember London?” John lowered his voice to a soothing whisper as he continued to play affectionately with Sherlock’s hair.

“Yes, we lived in a nice castle together where a queen took care of us,” Sherlock murmured.

That made John smile a little, even while his doubts intensified. Had he caused such irreversible harm to be done to Sherlock, after all? Had he destroyed the man? Was Sherlock really a child now? “Think back before that. We met in a laboratory. That was when we decided to be roommates. Well, you decided that we should be roommates, anyway, when I mentioned that I was looking for one.” He closed his eyes briefly. “That was a lie, Sherlock. I didn’t want a roommate. I only wanted to have you close. I fell in love with you at first sight. I wanted to be with you.” He wiped most of the excess ADAM off Sherlock’s leg with two fingers, and politely slurped the delicious gift from his fingers, as a show of deference and respect. 

His husband was quiet with awe. “Really…?”

It was with a rush of impulsiveness that John lifted Sherlock up enough to kiss him deeply and softly. It felt intensely scandalous and sublime. Sherlock seemed so happy for the intimacy, too. It was funny—this kiss felt almost no different from the kind they had shared on the surface world. Clearly this part of Sherlock had hardly changed at all. 

Though his body was smaller and he saw roses everywhere he went, Sherlock’s soul was still strong and kind. If Sherlock really was like a child now, so what? Was John afraid to admit that he was completely aware that his small beloved had indeed become weaker in some respects? That, despite that, John had continued to long for Sherlock more and more? Was John afraid to sin, to defy some law?

In Rapture, there are no gods or kings. Only man.

John gasped, “Yes. Yes!” He was so abruptly happy that he laughed. He stood Sherlock up by his sides and held him in the air. John was ecstatic. They could change Sherlock’s body, but they could not change his soul! John would admit it to himself now; he was completely in love with the half-adult-half-child. Sherlock was absolutely lovely the way that he was, because it was still his dear Sherlock in there, deep down. “My beautiful Sherlock! I get it now!”

The young man was startled, but he laughed also.

“Oh, what a roommate you were! Do you, do you remember? I recorded so many audio diaries of your adventures!” John stepped off the bed and planted Sherlock on the ground. “Sherlock, I must record your deductions for future generations! Sherlock, do dress properly when we have guests! Sherlock, of course I’ll follow you into danger, of course, always, my lovely Sherlock!” Still laughing, John danced Sherlock in a box-step around the room, and watched with great cheer as his partner was overcome with happiness also. 

They looked ridiculous in nothing but an undershirt and briefs for Sherlock, and full-body underwear for John; John did not mind this state of affairs in the slightest. 

John knelt swiftly before Sherlock. “As long as you are safe by my side… as long as I can talk to you and touch you, your size isn’t important. It doesn’t matter. You’re still Sherlock Holmes. You may think you’ve become too small for me, but… believe me, that’s not true.” He wiped some of Sherlock’s hair away. “Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, but you are still as exciting as you have ever been. My husband is still in here, double-thinking every word I say.” John sensuously stroked behind Sherlock’s ear, down his neck, and thought of the depth of Sherlock’s trust in him. This was the person whom John himself trusted and relied upon so dearly. “I’ve watched over you… and wanted you… for so long, Sherlock…” 

John wouldn’t deny that part of himself any longer. He had wanted to make love to little Sherlock, to suck him off and fill him for the sake of satisfying John’ own love-filled lust. It might take hours to prepare his small form, but what Sherlock didn’t yet know was the affectionate, unlimited zeal that John would bring to such a task.

“Really?” Blushing intensely but relieved also, his delightfully charming Sherlock beamed innocently in return. “Aw, don’t cry, Mr B. I love you, too!”

John paused. He felt his own face gingerly. Indeed, he was beginning to shed tears of his own. What were these tears for? Was he not happy that he’d come to terms with his own desires at last?

There was a loud bang at the entrance door. “Friends, are you still alive?”

Sherlock yelped in fright. “Mr B!” He buried himself again into John’s arms. 

Any intrusion that scared his Little One was highly unwelcome. Ignoring the strange emotional distress that was building inside of him, John cradled his boy protectively and stood up. He kept his small Sherlock against his sternum with only one arm so that he might also grab his revolver…

…until he remembered who this fellow was. 

“Ah. We don’t need to worry about him, Sherlock,” John said to his charge as he made his way to the door, unarmed and without concern. He called out, “Yes, we are still alive! So, you’ve finally found the way around the mess?”

“Yes, with no thanks to that unruly Big Daddy! But he’s gone now, I suppose.” 

John opened the door. He discovered that he had not been mistaken before, for the individual before him was certainly familiar. “I hope you don’t mind our lack of clothes,” John greeted. Sherlock was in a less welcoming mood, though. He gave the stranger a timid pout.

“Oh! You got the Little Sister!” The man started, but even he was not so obtuse as to miss Sherlock’s unexpected gender, or the way the apparent child snuggled with John. “Except…?” 

“This is no typical Little Sister.” The tone of John’s voice turned sharp. “This is my Little One, got it? Under no circumstances are you to touch him. For future reference, let me make one truth very clear to you now. I am his Big Daddy and I will be guarding him like one.”

Bewildered terror struck the man. “You were… are… the Big Daddy?”

“What, did you think all Big Daddies are evil, mindless things?” John allowed Sherlock to scurry onto his back. “Looks like my Little One still doesn’t like you, so you’ll just be talking to me for now.” He held out his hand. “It’s good to meet you again, Inspector Lestrade.”

The stunned inspector hardly moved at all. “We’ve… met?”

“Quite so. I’m Doctor John Watson. You may not recall but many years ago we—”

“John!” In an instant Lestrade was delighted instead of alarmed, and now the Big Daddy’s hand was shaken eagerly. “What luck! Thank goodness! You’re one of the men I’ve been looking for! Mr Holmes sent me to find you!” 

John’s brow raised in curiosity. “Another Mr Holmes?”

“Mr Mycroft Holmes.” Lestrade slowed down, and became wary again. “He says it’s time you and his brother Sherlock came home.”


	2. Chapter 2

John asked, “Can I get you a drink?” He sat together with Sherlock in the foyer. 

Sherlock remained politely by John’s side at the couch. He immaturely kicked the air with his bare, kid-like legs. The boy had warmed up to Lestrade’s presence, though he still clung to John. The closeness made John more cheerful than he normally was.

Lestrade, stubborn as ever, remained standing with arms crossed. “I’d much rather you get to answering my question,” the man said. “I have to know. Will you come back to London with me? It seems to me Sherlock has worried his brother for long enough. Where is Sherlock Holmes hiding, anyway?”

John looked questioningly at Sherlock, who smiled back innocently. “Hold on. Why would we leave Rapture? We have everything we want right here.” As an afterthought, he glanced back at Lestrade. “You definitely are out of place here, though. You are still Detective Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, right?”

The surprise in Lestrade’s eyes caught John’s attention. “No… No, that life is behind me. These days I do private detective work for Mycroft. It is a well-paying job, certainly, but not an easy one.” He eyed the Big Daddy curiously. “John Watson… Yeah, I think it’s all coming back to me now. I got help from you and Sherlock on a case or two, but wasn’t that at least ten years ago?”

“Yeah.” John leaned forward and folded his fingers. “So, tell me. Why should we leave Rapture?”

“Are you joking?” Lestrade glanced at Sherlock. “Sanity, for one thing, and peace. No one in England would choose to live in such a miserable hellhole as this. And it’s more dangerous than work in any factory! How anyone can survive down here for as long as you two have is a mystery to me!” Lestrade frowned. “Though, I guess for a Big Daddy and Little Sister, it is not so mysterious?”

“Yeah, not mysterious at all.” John sighed thoughtfully. “Rapture is dangerous, though…”

“You’re here to protect us, Mr B,” Sherlock chirped, with a tug on John’s sleeve.

John blinked. He picked Sherlock up by his sides and sat him on his lap. “What do you think, Sherlock? Would you rather stay here, or go back to our old castle?”

“Sherlock?” Lestrade mumbled to himself.

“I’m happy anywhere. I’m safe, as long as I’m with you.” Sherlock let himself fall onto John, embracing him snuggly around the chest. “You decide, Mr B.”

The warmth from Sherlock’s small, loving body was a danger all its own. Could John bring his small Sherlock to England? Would life be better for him there? John, for his part, believed that Sherlock’s brother cared little about him and was probably more interested in the technical knowledge that he and John had accrued under the sea. That wasn’t an issue to John, though. The real dilemma was, where was Sherlock best served?

“You just called that kid Sherlock,” Lestrade said suddenly. “Is this boy…? Oh, no.” A sympathetic sadness touched Lestrade’s features. “Is this Sherlock’s son? Is that why… you’ve been crying? Is Sherlock dead?”

Ironically, this rather kind-hearted reaction pleased John a good deal. “No, he’s not Sherlock’s son. Besides, I cry only for good things.” John gently pushed at Sherlock’s shoulder to turn him onto his side and face Lestrade. “This child is Sherlock Holmes himself. Sherlock, do you recall Lestrade?”

Lestrade was stunned. “What are you on about?”

Still, Sherlock had trouble placing Lestrade. With encouragement from John, the Little One scooted off the sofa and peered at Lestrade. 

“You’ve gone mad, John,” the detective declared solemnly. “This kid is no one but someone’s lost child. Besides, if he was really an adult, he wouldn’t be walking around in his underwear!”

“I’m sorry I don’t recognise you, Mr Lestrade.” Sherlock held up his hand as a petition for a proper handshake. “It’s nice to meet you again.”

Apparently, Lestrade was more patient with the young one than with John. Lestrade knelt, and shook Sherlock’s hand. Any general revulsion that Lestrade had towards Little Sisters was noticeably shelved for the moment. “Sure, why not? Good to meet you.”

Sherlock took his hand back, and clutched it nervously. “Did you ever tell Mycroft your feelings?”

Lestrade was stunned again. “Eh?”

Intrigued, John watched silently.

“Feelings?” The man repeated at length, with great disbelief and some fright.

Startled also and scared of being wrong, Sherlock nodded timidly. “Um… I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was bad to talk about… I noticed a long time ago that you liked Mycroft… It was obvious from the way you looked at him… I was only curious to know if you ever told him… It’s not as if he would have figured it out himself…”

Lestrade’s face dropped with amazement. He squinted. “… Sherlock?” 

“Yeah… what?”

“Sherlock! A Little Sister now! Oh, by God! This place, this insane, unholy place… I guess you’re not a private detective anymore!” But alas, to deny John’s darling boy anything was always near impossible. “Fine, I’ll tell you what happened between us, but…” Lestrade’s eyes darted up to John. “You, plug your ears.”

John did not feel like being obedient. “I won’t tell anyone,” he promised. “And, so that you know for the future, Sherlock is no less a detective now than he was then.”

It was at that point that Lestrade came to the decision to ignore John, preferring instead to communicate with Sherlock, who was more accommodating at the moment. “Well, I did get around to talking to Mycroft.” Lestrade laughed at himself and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Goodness! I made a fool out of myself at first, let me tell you.”

“Really?”

“But I stood fast, and weathered that storm.” Lestrade stood up and scratched the back of his own head. “Turns out, he wasn’t so bad. Granted, he’s quirky, and he can be lazy, and he’s a control freak to boot, but he’s brilliant, and he makes me very… very…” Lestrade grimaced. The words at the tip of his tongue weren’t conventionally permitted to be spoken. “Happy? Is that the word?”

Sherlock snorted immaturely. “Mycroft doesn’t know the meaning of the word—”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me! I need to go and up a few more things from around Rapture! Sherlock, if you would think about the offer I’m giving here? I know your friend will listen to you! He always did. I’ll come back tomorrow. I do hope you two will decide to come along with me back to London, all right! And, my apologies again for attacking you, it won’t happen again!” Lestrade nodded eagerly and left as quickly as he could.

“Great, he gets embarrassed easily,” John mused when they were alone again. “That’s the part of the surface world that I definitely don’t miss.”

“Mr Bubbles?”

“Yeah, Sherlock?”

“I want to stay with you.” Sherlock sat back down on the couch in a submissive manner. “But besides for that, I can’t choose where to go. It’s too hard. Can you choose for me?” 

Something heavy pooled in the pit of John’s stomach at the sight of his trusting Little One. Instantly he picked himself up and strode across the foyer to the door, which he sealed without hesitation. He then returned to Sherlock. “Are you comfortable there?”

A swift, guileless nod was his reply.

“Excellent. Could you part your legs for me, like this?” John gently pushed aside the two knees that were tensely huddling too closely together, until they were parted at a wide, loose angle.

Sherlock was blushing intensely. He couldn’t hide much of himself in only his shirt and underpants. “Mr Bubbles?”

John rolled Sherlock’s shirt up. “Could you lift your arms for me?”

Two thin arms went shyly but obediently up.

The shirt followed that path, and was discarded carefully onto a sofa arm. “Thank you,” John whispered. He sat on the ground in front of Sherlock, so that his face was level with Sherlock’s crotch. “Are you still comfortable?”

“Mm,” Sherlock affirmed, at once delighted and bewildered. 

“I’m so glad.” John lowered Sherlock’s arms back to rest, and gazed upon the beauty so generously open before him.

Sherlock’s swallow was dry and  uneasy . “I’m sorry, Mr B. I don’t have anything yummy to give you yet…”

That made John grimace a little. “I may not have been in my right mind, Sherlock, but I meant it when I said that I love you, and not the ADAM you make for me. I was just thinking that you might be sore after all we did last night, and this morning. And I thought you’d feel better with a small massage. Would you like that?” 

“Oh. Okay!” Sherlock bounced excitedly. “Can you do my tummy?”

John wondered if Sherlock knew that massages to his tummy, while apparently pleasant to experience, would also stimulate the production of ADAM for expulsion a few hours later from his small body. “Sure, anything you like.” John pressed his hands—which were still covered in as much black synthetic material as the rest of him—to Sherlock’s bare sides, and began a soothing rhythm.

Sherlock exhaled and relaxed into the sofa. “You’re so nice,” he hummed. 

“I haven’t forgotten the thing you asked for, by the way. I’ll make love to you sometime.” John moved his rubbing hands a little closer to the navel, causing Sherlock to whimper in the prettiest way. Sherlock was so small, so easy to touch and soothe, and so delicate also. John was aware that his own desire, which had abated in the moment of a threat in their home, was quickly rekindling, but now was not the time for such things. Sherlock was no doubt too exhausted. “The detective won’t return until the next day, so we could do it tonight? Or do you want to wait a bit? I know that you have been through so much lately.” 

Hope dared to grace Sherlock’s manner. “Tonight is okay?” 

Grateful beyond any reasonable measure, John kissed Sherlock sweetly on the forehead. “Absolutely. Tonight is great.” 

How could so much delight fit onto such a little, unassuming face? “Thank you! Thank you so much! I love you, Mr Bubbles!”

Typically, John was not a man who let himself be driven by passion. However, it occurred then to John that he might have made himself addicted to ADAM intentionally, in order to give himself an excuse to feel Sherlock’s joy without the worry of moral implications. His dream of being the one closest to Sherlock’s bountiful heart included his wish to be intimate with every part of Sherlock, to give him everything he could ever want or need. 

If that were true, then it could also explain why John was caressing down from Sherlock’s stomach to his hips and thighs in a calm manner, easing the tension in the muscles underneath, with such unacceptably possessive care. 

This was not passion. It was dependency. John was hopelessly drawn to the capable and fascinating soul, this bright light that had been the only one to make one very lonely and purposeless John feel so fulfilled. The privilege to only hear his small, wholesome voice and speak to him would have been enough for John, or conceivably it would have driven him insane…

“Ah…” Sherlock languidly slumped backward. “You’re so nice…”

“That’s only because you’re so nice,” John assured. He had to resist the abrupt urge to affectionately nuzzle his beloved’s groin. He was currently entertaining rather immature fantasies of massaging Sherlock there as well, but that would probably send some very mixed signals across. “I don’t really want to meet your brother again, by the way.” 

Sherlock giggled. “Mr Lestrade likes him.”

John smiled fondly. “Yes, that’s a mystery as good as any you’ve ever solved, isn’t it? Until today, I never thought your brother was the sort for relationships like that.”

“I think I want to see him again,” Sherlock said.

Then, John had his answer. They would leave Rapture to meet Mycroft, and their future, together. John would work his hardest to make sure that Sherlock lived a wonderful life in London.

Sherlock asked, “Can I do anything for you?”

“Please, Sherlock! Don’t concern yourself with being useful to me for once. Although, maybe there is one thing you can do for me. Let me in on where you’re feeling sore?

That question provoked some hesitancy in Sherlock’s voice. “Um, I’m… kind of sore… down lower… if that’s okay…”

That was rather unexpected. Nonetheless, John moderately massaged around his boy’s private parts underneath the briefs. As he did, he found it increasingly difficult to keep his own excitement abated. He felt the distress inside himself again, and pondered what the cause of it might be. “How is this?”

Sherlock giggled bashfully. “A… little more…?”

With some uncertainty and a great deal of nameless feelings, John massaged gently, around the middle of Sherlock’s stomach, and around the base of his small length. “Is this better?”

“Ah… Mmhmm…” Sherlock seemed half-asleep, or perhaps drunk on some relaxing emotion. “Thank you, very much…”

John bit his lip. Voyeuristic arousal warmed his core as he alleviated his soft Sherlock’s discomfort. He was thrilled by the sight and the feel of his long-time husband. 

There was no way he would be able to wait until tonight. 

He would have to resort to relieving himself away from Sherlock, to be sustained only by thoughts of the boy, with only the boy’s name on his lips. His fantasies would take on an unforgivable turn, he knew; he would imagine Sherlock and him, jumping playfully around their bedroom, or being together in the plaza, or the market, or even the public library where John had read story after story to him, or the garden where they’d planted fruit trees, or the sewers where they’d saved the lives of a trapped family, or the playground where they’d chased one another, or the abandoned shop where Sherlock had cracked every safe, or the deserted brothel where they’d dressed up in ownerless tuxedos and danced for an hour or more…

“Mr B, this is fun. Everything has been so much fun with you.” Sherlock sighed with contentment. “If we do go back to the castle, can I bring your diaries? I want to always remember all the time we’ve shared. You’re brave, Mr Bubbles. I’m so lucky to get to have adventures with you… and to have someone who loves me so much…” He closed his shining eyes and breathed deeply. “I can look after you, too… on the surface… like I used to…” He melted and curled onto the seat of the sofa, letting John’s touch lull him to a light, safe sleep.

No, John decided. He had been mistaken; he would not relieve himself prematurely. He would find the strength to last until tonight, because he was determined to make tonight special for Sherlock. The brilliant man whom he had married deserved nothing less. 

So, John simply let his consuming need and his incomprehensible distress gather as he very tenderly stroked Sherlock’s overworked stomach from top to bottom, so that his pretty, loving boy could rest without ache. 

** 

Yet their departure from Rapture came sooner than expected.

Lestrade came to them merely a few hours later, explaining that he’d received word of a storm coming. He had to hurry back to London immediately. He added that there was a ship waiting for his escape, and the ship would not be able to return until the storm had passed.

He’d arrived to find John and Sherlock sitting and reading a book together on a rug, with John, in most of his Big Daddy armour, and Sherlock, still rather frightening to behold with his eerie skin and eyes, and wearing what seemed to be a very good suit. To Lestrade, it was touching and more than a little weird, all things considered.

Lestrade explained that he could return for them at a later date, but instead John and Sherlock were ready to follow him immediately. Without delay, John had gone into the other room and returned with his fearsome helmet on. Sherlock left their book on the floor and held up his arms, which were taken by John, so that the man-turned-boy could attach himself to John’s back. The pair offered a frightening image. Lestrade was grateful to have such a pair as allies for once, even if only for a short time.

John grabbed a small bag of belongings, escorted Lestrade out of their former home, and sealed the door behind them. 

It was only a matter of time until they’d all gone to the half-broken bathysphere, the lift that served as transportation through the water, and ascended to the lighthouse which breached the surface of the ocean. 

It was nighttime in this world, but in the moonlight they could all see the yacht docked and awaiting them. A couple of the ship’s crew helped the three of them come on board, onto the deck. Lestrade and Sherlock were immediately hoisted up, but the armoured John, of course, had to reassure the crew at length of his good intentions before he was permitted entry.

And that was when they met the man who’d summoned them, strolling toward them with an umbrella and an unhurried, all-knowing air.

“Ah, Mr Holmes!” Lestrade cleared his throat. “I didn’t know that you’d be here!”

“Do calm yourself, Mr Lestrade. Even I am obliged to crawl out of my cave to breathe fresh air every now and again.” Mycroft glanced at John, and the child on his back. It was plain that Mycroft recognised the child. He smiled knowingly. “So, Dr Watson. How’s life been?”

“How did you know that this armoured beast was John Watson?” Lestrade asked.

“Who else could my guardian possibly be?” Sherlock couldn’t help saying, much to Lestrade’s annoyance. 

John removed his helmet and held it under his arm, so that he might speak to Mycroft face-to-face. “But I get the feeling that you expected me to be like this, didn’t you?”

Mycroft did not answer the question. “You are all no doubt exhausted. Now that we’re all finally safe and sound in one group, we can certainly wait to discuss this strange reunion later, after a good night’s rest.” Mycroft spun his umbrella in a lazy circle. “I hope it’s no substantial inconvenience that there are only two passenger bedrooms on the ship. Unfortunately, these bedrooms will have to be shared. That should cause no trouble for anyone, I imagine?”

John laughed, Sherlock blushed, and Lestrade turned sheepish.

Puzzled by these reactions, Mycroft stood straighter, and glanced between the three. In the next moment, his gaze locked onto Lestrade, with a determination that was menacing. “Do we need to have the talk again, about making sure that private relationships remain private, detective?”

Like a startled puppy, Lestrade bowed his head and scratched the back of his neck. “No, sir…”

Sherlock cowered slightly behind John. “I’m sorry, Brother. It was my fault that he told us about you and him.”

Mycroft tilted his head at the boy. “What a strange voice Sherlock has now. Or do all the Little Sisters sound like that? One wonders.” Not expecting an answer, he immediately considered Lestrade again, and questioned him with his gaze alone.

Lestrade was quick to defend himself. “Wait! Dr Watson and your brother aren’t dangerous people, right? Besides, Sherlock knew me from before we… uh…” His frantic hand gestures would not save him. “I mean, he figured out all those years ago that… uh, he already knew that I wanted… you know!” 

“Indeed. I understand what you are trying to convey. However.” The manner in which Mycroft raised his chin was a level of condescending beyond mere haughtiness. “You should count yourself lucky that my brother and his ally are not threats, but you have proven yourself too trusting again. Clearly, this is my own error. I have been deficient in teaching you the dangers of divulging sensitive information. If you would kindly follow me to our shared quarters so that I might expand upon my lesson… in detail?” 

It was difficult to believe the intensity of the blush that painted Lestrade.

Mycroft politely smiled at John and Sherlock. “I do hope you’ll excuse us. You’ll find your own room down those stairs, to the right. We’ll talk further in the morning. Good night, Dr Watson, brother mine.” Mycroft domineeringly turned Lestrade around and almost proudly walked the poor sod away.

“Aw, that was so cute,” Sherlock giggled after they were gone. “Does Detective Lestrade make ADAM for Mycroft?”

John smirked with amusement behind his helmet. Sherlock had quite the interesting way of viewing the world, even if it was only half-true.

**

Mycroft had understated the extravagance of the passenger quarters. There was a living room that extended into a bedroom on one side, and a bathroom on another. Sherlock kicked off his shoes and ran into the bedroom.

As he fondly watched his husband go off to explore, John dropped off his bag of belongings and his individual pieces of armour by the door. As he did so, he noticed a bottle of lubricant on the table, and smirked. He’d told the stewardess who had helped him onto the ship to take the large bottle that was in Mycroft’s bureau and bring it to his quarters. It might bring upon John some ire from Sherlock’s brother later, but it was exactly what he needed at the moment. He put the bottle in his breast pocket. 

He would be absolutely perfect for Sherlock tonight. That was why he had donned his own best formal dress underneath his armour. When he’d ironed Sherlock’s clothes earlier, he’d also prepared his own suit and tie. The fragrance he had chosen for himself was an old one, but it hadn’t lost its smell. He went to the bathroom to comb his hair again, checking that he was perfectly presentable. The only thing he was missing was his best pair of shoes, but they wouldn’t fit under the armour. 

Soft, classical music droned in from the other room. Satisfied with himself and feeling ready, John nodded to himself in the mirror and went to the bedroom.

At once, his heart began to ache.

The fireplace had been lit. The phonograph was playing its calm, monotonous record with the upmost patience. His beautiful boy was curled against the headboard, filled with so much nervous energy that he was struggling in his task to remove his belt. His jacket and tie were already on the desk in the room. When John entered, Sherlock stopped. Red shame passed over his small face for not having undressed himself quickly enough.

“Sherlock.” John sat beside the young man and caressed his smooth features.

Sherlock’s luminescent eyes poured boundless emotions of affection and reverence onto John. “I wanted to be perfect for you,” the boy said.

John’s fingers curved to grasp Sherlock’s chin. “Oh, I think you succeeded in that a very long time ago.” He leaned forward—with a pause to give Sherlock the chance to retreat—and kissed him. Within seconds John was crawling onto the bed, trying to get even closer to Sherlock without parting their lips, until John was on top of his beloved. The somewhat aggressive position made John’s guardian soul waver, however, so he flipped onto his back and kept his eager, guiltless Sherlock on top of himself, sitting on his chest. “Ah, my sweet, beautiful Sherlock.” John held Sherlock by his back and his hair and kissed slowly, repeatedly allowing the smallest intervals of rest for Sherlock to breathe before returning for more. 

Sherlock moaned under John’s gentle treatment.

It felt terribly indecent, but John was so in love. Wasn’t it enough justification that Sherlock was excited and happy, too? John would do anything for Sherlock, be anything for him. At first he had been Sherlock’s caring London roommate, and then his caring husband, and most recently his caring Big Daddy. What would he become for Sherlock now? The answer to that question was of little consequence, ultimately. As long as John could thrive in his compassionate Sherlock’s warmth, and please him in such a manner as this, John was content.

When they were both panting for air, John pulled Sherlock’s head into his neck and embraced him devotedly. “Oh, good heavens. I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock breathed into John’s skin, “I love you, Big Daddy.”

That odd name used to make John chortle in amusement. Having learned of the depth of the feeling that Sherlock put into the name, however, made the name much less amusing. The trust and adoration it carried sent hot lust down John’s spine, a feeling equal parts pure-hearted love and obscene desire.

“I’m so lucky, Mr B. I have the bravest knight in the world…”

Of course, John felt a strong inclination to protest this bold claim.

But then Sherlock sat upright on top of John, close enough for another kiss, and John would have sworn in the holiest church on its most sacred book that there, before his eyes, was Sherlock Holmes, a full-grown man. John saw those normal yet loving eyes, and a jumpy smile that could melt the coldest heart. John reached for that smile.

Sherlock clasped John’s cheek in turn, with a child’s hand, and in John’s own hand was a child again. Except, the child was still Sherlock Holmes.

John was speechless. His husband was here. His husband was still with him. He’d known that already, though, so why was he so overwhelmed at an illusion, a memory? Why did he feel that awful distress boiling inside him again? He was more fortunate and more fulfilled in this life than any mortal had any right to be! This anguish within him made no sense at all!

The cheerful boy fell playfully onto his back beside John, and tugged at the suited gentleman. “I’m sorry, but, I really want to be the one who gets to lie on the bed. Is that okay, Mr B?”

Overcome with an insane lust and  infatuation , John obeyed. He was soon above Sherlock again. Pushing forward, he swiftly bowed and undid the small belt around Sherlock’s hips. The small pair of trousers was soon opened at  the  front, and descended just enough to give John access. The underwear followed immediately, so that John had removed the confines of Sherlock’s arousal.

It all happened so quickly, so naturally, that Sherlock didn’t really notice that there was anything unusual with what was happening until he felt those clothes removed. “Oh, Mr B, are you hungry?” The delight of feeling useful was there, in his features, again, but there was also a fresh comprehension that he was wanted for more than his ADAM, which gratified John.

“Would you please hold the top of the bed for me?” Such a selfish request, but John had to be resolute. He was to be the perfect seducer tonight!

Confused but willing, Sherlock did what John asked of him. He was always such an accommodating, innocent husband.

John thought bitter thoughts to himself. Surely he was being anguished by his revulsion at his own selfishness, his own reckless need to inundate Sherlock with love and protection and praise and pleasure. The companionship and faith that Sherlock had given him over many years deserved to be thus rewarded, though, right? Sherlock had given him so much without asking for anything in return. Couldn’t John give him at least this without having it tear him to pieces? If Sherlock wanted total union with John, in body and in spirit, then what other outcome could there have ever been, regardless of the body he was in? 

If John was going to surrender this much of his good sense to his unquenchable need to pleasure Sherlock, then, he decided, with no small measure of guilt, that he might as well succumb to the need completely, and stimulate Sherlock to the very best of his ability. 

John ascended to the boy’s white button-up shirt, which he fondly undid. “Is this good?” he whispered sultrily as he circled one of Sherlock’s nubs with a gentle finger.

Sherlock gasped with excitement, and tensed with embarrassment. “Um, you don’t… have to…”

John caressed the nub rhythmically and gently. 

The sensations overwhelmed the boy, and he relaxed. “Mm…”

To touch Sherlock like this was almost painfully invigorating. John’s adventurous, lovesick mind began to fall upon the possibilities before him. It was true that Sherlock was only a male child, but could the boy be made to expel ADAM from this part of his body as well? It wasn’t very likely, but John found himself imagining that erotic scene of his trusting husband in passion vividly. Thinking these thoughts to himself, he tongued the other nub while his fingers continued to play. 

The way Sherlock cried out was devastatingly appealing. His two child-size legs coiled bashfully, and his hips rocked sheepishly into the air between him and John, until John stilled Sherlock’s lower body with the heaviness of his own legs. 

What a beautiful little boy his husband was. John carefully took out his lubricant from his jacket. There were so many inexcusable ways in which he longed to be close to Sherlock, to do things with him so private and personal that he could perhaps express a fraction of the magnitude of the tenderness and respect he had for the boy-man he cherished. John yearned to be close, in every sense, to Sherlock’s golden heart, for that was where this knight belonged.  

For now, he coated his hands with a little of the lubricant, and experimentally thumbed it into the two nubs of the boy’s chest. 

“Ah…” The treasured, familiar body in John’s care quaked. 

Without removing those thumbs, John lowered his mouth deeply onto Sherlock’s beautiful ache. 

Sherlock’s pretty little voice whimpered uncontrollably. John felt the organ inside him move with that deep breath. “You’re… hungry, Mr B…?”

John had to make this special, the most special thing that had ever been done for Sherlock. Even as he kept Sherlock’s soreness in unending warmth, John maintained most of his attention on his own digits and not on his own throat. He continued to circle and rub Sherlock’s chest.

It was not difficult, in a physical sense, to watch Sherlock weep with arousal, but emotionally it pushed John to the edge of exploding. “Big Daddy,” Sherlock moaned. “Please, please…”

John was drowning in this. His two wet thumbs descended down Sherlock’s miniature torso, to stroke the vulnerable ADAM-sensitive spots of the stomach. Instantly, the delicious taste of ADAM squirted into John, and it elated his soul with joy.

“Ah…” Sherlock winced helplessly, and his closed eyes struggled. “Please, Mr B, you can have me… I made ADAM for you…” His small hips were shaking shyly, even while under John’s weight.

John used the sensuous force of his hands to pin the boy’s tender stomach firmly where it was. It was, after all, absolutely imperative that he make this night unimpeachably special. John’s palms lightly and diligently worked Sherlock’s sensitive tummy. 

“It’s so much,” Sherlock sobbed. His whole body was shaking with the gratification that John had so obsessively given him. “I feel so light… I want more… Can I please have more…?”

If only John could speak, he would comfort Sherlock with words of eternal devotion. He longed to say that he had been so empty without this gorgeous detective in his life, that every minute of every day John admired the kind boy who had been all but glued to his side continuously in London and who had hugged John adoringly continuously from behind in Rapture. Sherlock was a bright fellow, but did he comprehend how important he was to John?

Since John could not speak while he serviced Sherlock, though, he communicated through his actions rather than his words. He commenced unhurriedly to move his head up and down without fail, in the way he thought would best satisfy Sherlock.

“Oh! Oh…” Sherlock’s knees squirmed underneath John as the child trembled. “This is really nice, oh, more please, oh, yes, please, if that’s okay…” 

Make it special, damn it, John’s thoughts demanded. His well-worn palms had ceased their dance at Sherlock’s middle. He lowered one hand along the curves of Sherlock’s rear, and stroked innocuously there.

A trifle of panic disturbed Sherlock’s voice. “Uh…?” Ashamed and terrified, but still complying with John’s request to hold onto the bed frame above him, the boy bit his lip, which did not stifle his moans at all but did give him the most charmingly modest appearance in the midst of ecstasy. The Little One was able to nod unsteadily, and in that motion, there was a plea for John to continue.

John would spend hours calming his darling if need be, but Sherlock seemed so wanting, and so desperate. 

**

“After all, it should be common sense that those closest to you can pose the greatest danger,” Mycroft said from upon his great reading chair. “Do you understand?”

Lestrade, who had been advised by Mycroft to sit cross-legged before him so that he might pay better attention to the lecture, was red to the brim. He supposed that this is what is would be like to have one’s sins laid out to one in person by God Himself. “Yes, sir…”

“You must see how it is imperative that our privacy is not made public,” Mycroft stated heavily. He leaned forward, totally engrossed in his own lesson and taking himself quite seriously. “You cannot tell anyone.”

It would have been nice if Mycroft wasn’t so ashamed of him. However, Lestrade also knew that it wasn’t fair of him to think that way. Their love was indeed criminal. Lestrade shouldn’t go around advertising it. “I know, I’m sorry.” 

Mycroft sighed. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes…”

“All right.” The expression on the man’s face turned regretful, almost apologetic. He waved his hand. “You look terribly uncomfortable there. Stand up and rest yourself.”

Without even thinking, Lestrade moved towards Mycroft.

It was amusing how much that startled Mycroft. “What—?”

Lestrade sank on top of Mycroft, into the reading chair, and embraced him. “I missed you.” Goodness, Lestrade thought, the man felt so good to hold. “Good God, but I missed you so much.”

The detective could feel the heat radiating off Mycroft’s skin. “Yes, well…”

“Rapture was such a terrible place, but I remembered what you told me. You reasoned so acutely that, prepared as I was, no harm would come to me.” As he hugged, Lestrade dug one hand into Mycroft’s hair. “I kept remembering that.”

“Lestrade,” Mycroft murmured into his ear. “I wouldn’t send you away to danger.”

When Lestrade felt a gentlemanly hand return his hug around the small of his back, his happiness grew larger than his heart could hold. Mycroft was always hesitant with intimacy, so this was an especially heartwarming gesture. Mycroft still repressed himself so often after all these years, or at least, Lestrade thought so. “I’m sorry I told them about us. I know how important your reputation is to you.”

“Reputation! Greg!” Mycroft suddenly took hold of Lestrade’s arms, and held him at length. “What does this have to do with reputation! My enemies cannot touch me under any circumstance. I would not let them. But if they ever knew about you, and you were not at my side…” The tinge of an embarrassed blush surfaced on his face. “… I cannot suffer to lose you.”

Lestrade blinked. “Hold on. Are you saying that were upset with me because you were worried about me?”

“I’m not upset with you. I am only giving you advice in the matters of personal security…” Mycroft swallowed loudly. “Would you be so kind as to rise from my lap?”

How could Lestrade not smile widely? Lestrade kissed Mycroft into his chair, with a passionate recklessness that Lestrade could not hold back. 

Mycroft was so embarrassed! “This isn’t proper—”

“I know it isn’t.” Lestrade bowed his head into Mycroft’s chest. This was how it was supposed to be, him sitting here at Mycroft’s disposal, basking in his warmth, ready to do whatever the Mycroft asked of him. “So what? I love you.”

The other man was speechless.

“Please, let me be here with you,” Lestrade pleaded.

Mycroft hesitated. “I admit, I’m not entirely averse to… such… and…” The normally proud, strong voice became increasingly timid. “If you were wanting to… have congress this night…?” 

Lestrade wanted to gasp at the implicit approval as well as the offer in Mycroft’s words. Conservative Mycroft was trying to offer himself to Lestrade! This was the most bizarre event of Lestrade’s day by far.

It certainly was a struggle for Mycroft, too, by the sound of it. “I have the preparations… necessary… in the bureau, if you are concerned for my own comfort… that is to say, that would be—” 

“No, no, that’s okay! I’m too shaken up for any of that!” Even so, Lestrade appreciated that Mycroft was so kindly thinking of him. “All I want right now is to stay here. Is that all right?”

“Ah, of course. Certainly. Truly, these fears that I will dismiss you are unfounded…”

“So you will let me stay?”

Mycroft sighed indulgently. “Yes.”

That made Lestrade very happy.

They embraced each other for a long time. When the position on the chair became too fatiguing for Lestrade, he thanked Mycroft for his time and immediately went to rest by himself on the bed. He closed his eyes, hoped his clothes would not be too ruined by this laziness, and curled on his side for sleep. 

However, his sleepy hands were grasped by firmer ones. He peeked and saw Mycroft lying parallel with him, looking him over with concern. Lestrade felt loved, and safe. Even if Mycroft was still a little stiff with anxiousness, this was where Lestrade belonged, where he was most needed.

Daring to be exceptionally intimate under the guise of sleepiness, Lestrade rolled to be partially on top of Mycroft, and giggled sleepily when Mycroft played fondly and curiously with his hair. 

Lestrade would forever be by Mycroft’s side, as the loyal pup who would wait at his lord’s feet, fetch things for him, and return always to keep his lord warm and content.  To be able to do these things for his beloved was a gift from Mycroft that Lestrade treasured greatly.

Then, Mycroft spoke.

“Forgive me, Lestrade, for that time so long ago when I could not allow you to stay with me. My only comfort was in loneliness. Now, my only comfort is in you, and I find you to be infinitely preferable.” The words came to Lestrade in something like a dream, and yet they made Lestrade’s heart burn with a scorchingly sweet fire.

The warmth that held him remained through the night. 

**

While his heart pounded away in a frenzy, John carefully wetted his fingers with the lubricant before he brought them again behind Sherlock, who trembled with anticipation. John longed to speak reassuringly to his Little One, but he longed also to keep the boy’s small but warm ache in his mouth while he prepared him. How could John speak from such a position? So he only remained where he was, repeatedly warming Sherlock’s little love inside himself as one of his fingers began rimming his boy.

Sherlock still seemed desperate. “Please, more, oh, more please…” There was a vigorous heartbeat between John’s lips. Sherlock’s eyes had  shut  themselves in concentration, and he was panting desperately. He appeared absolutely beautiful. 

John couldn’t be silent anymore. It was imperative that his Sherlock know he was safe here, with his guardian, and that everything was all right. John pulled away, to murmur, “It’s all right, Sherlock. Hold onto me now, if that helps you.”

That brought some calm to Sherlock, who opened his eyes to look at John. One of Sherlock’s shy hands went to John’s hair.

It was easy for John to don a consoling expression of utter contentment and devotion at that moment, for it was an honest one. 

Sherlock was cutely transfixed by it.

John looked down to what waited beneath him once more, and again took it inside himself, at first with an exceedingly slow pace so that Sherlock might be better distracted as John entered one finger into him.

“Ah…! Ah…” The scintillating moan that escaped Sherlock was breathless. His nervousness was diminished, to be replaced by something more eager.

John couldn’t help himself. That voice, that trust, it was too encouraging. The magic running from Sherlock’s tiny fingers through John’s hair was too much. With nothing but caring attention, John prepared Sherlock with two fingers at the same time he moved hungrily along Sherlock. He absolutely had to stop to talk to Sherlock and reassure him, but he couldn’t let him go. He loved him so much, and had to make him happy. His Sherlock had asked so sweetly for more, and John was determined to give everything to him.

Sherlock cried out. “Mr Bubbles…! It’s so nice, oh, I’m sorry…! I’m going to…!” 

John entered a third finger, and caressed Sherlock with his digits smoothly, hoping to make him feel nice inside. 

His Little One trembled, and sobbed dryly with his shoulders.

That was when John tasted trembling, followed by a burst of ADAM. There was a lot of it, in fact, flowing graciously into him. John enjoyed the feast as he kept going, until Sherlock was entirely spent inside him and completely relaxed. John wondered if Sherlock felt as merrily weightless as he did.

The boy beneath him relaxed into the sheets. “I’m… so sorry… You were, um… having fun, I think? And… and I’m sorry, I should have waited…”

John tenderly lifted himself off Sherlock, and hushed him. “Please, don’t talk like that, now. That was brilliant.” He beamed with all the light that was filling him. “Thank you for making such a treat for me. You’re fantastic.” 

“But…” Sherlock’s self-conscious smile was lovely also. “… okay…” 

“Oh, I forgot!” John lit up in a silly manner. “Did you want us to undress, Sherlock?” In his eagerness, John had completely neglected to ask this before. Like the music and the fire, the fineness of their clothes had seemed fitting somehow. 

Sherlock hummed in the negative. “You have to be dressed so nicely because you’re my knight!”

That was deeply touching to John. “I’m not exactly golden without my golden armour on, though,” he replied.

Sherlock blinked. “But your armour isn’t made of gold.” He playfully shook the hair of the head he was still holding, and smiled widely. “This is!”

That playful little shake made John very happy. “My hair?”

“No, silly!” Sherlock was giggling too much to form a more coherent answer.

What else was there? “My head?”

“No, Mr B! What’s inside your head!!” the delightful young man exclaimed innocently. “What’s inside all of you! You are so nice, you must be made of gold!” 

His boy was such an angel. “Oh, Sherlock.”

Sherlock held his out arms for a hug.

Without hesitation John embraced his small beloved, smiling widely as he did so.

“Hey, um, Mr Bubbles? Can we… still… um…”

“Oh, yeah, of course! I was just getting to that. We’ll still do what you wanted us to do. If you are ready, then I won’t make you wait any longer.” John removed himself from the hug and tucked a pillow under Sherlock’s rear.

Sherlock bit his lip, watching.

This was too important for John to start worrying about ethics now, not when Sherlock wanted this. Even though he’d never used his little Sherlock for anything like this before, he was ready for this. Hoping for it to be a romantic gesture, he undid his own zip. He let Sherlock see how aroused he’d grown, as he lined himself up against Sherlock.

Sherlock blushed immensely. He kept his gaze away even as he became aroused again. 

“Sherlock?” John tried to call his love back to him. “Sherlock? Is this all right?” He moved over Sherlock, keeping himself up with his hands at each side of Sherlock’s head. He stared down, and saw such kind beauty that he forgot the world.

In that face he again saw the adult Sherlock Holmes, clear as day. There was the man he’d promised himself too. His kind Sherlock was as powerful as any adult. But then, why was he afraid to look at John? Was he feeling too small for John again? How could this beautiful man believe something so absurd?

John held onto his Little One, until finally Sherlock looked back at him. The guilty lust, affection, and insecurity in Sherlock’s glowing eyes drove John mad. Without thinking, he finally thrust into him. 

Sherlock cried out with want. His body rolled with John’s. Small hands grasped onto John’s waist.

John groaned in a deep voice. He was inside of his adorable boy at last. It felt so good to take Sherlock, to feel him shiver with pleasure while John waited for Sherlock to become accustomed to him. How could John want to treat Sherlock like this? But wait, wasn’t he just thinking a moment ago that this was his beautiful, deserving husband? All of his conflicting desires for Sherlock burst and twisted into spectacular nonsense. 

He thought he could see both the face of the child Sherlock and the face of the adult Sherlock staring so intently back at him. The more John looked, the more the two faces seemed the same.

His little Sherlock, flushed with passion, was embarrassed in much the same way as he had been when they had first joined together years ago on their wedding night. “More… please?”

John dreamily obeyed. Making love to his boy like this was improper, unconscionable, and the best thing he’d ever done in his life. It had been so long since he’d done this with his husband. Had it always been this obscene, this intoxicating, this breathtaking? Sherlock’s trusting body was so accommodating and warm that it was driving him mad with lustful and intimate thoughts. John wanted to merge with Sherlock completely, and take Sherlock’s doubts away.  He hated that he was so much larger than Sherlock, for he had never been more terrified of hurting his darling than right now.

Sad, hurried words slipped past Sherlock’s trembling lips. “Should I… like this so much…?”

Relief washed over John. On pure instinct, he clutched each of Sherlock’s wrists tightly, and gyrated his hips in the slowest, gentlest way that he could. 

“Ah, ah…” Sherlock’s knees spread further apart on their own accord. “Mr B, can we do this all the time—?” A deep kiss from John to Sherlock’s mouth cut in, trying to preemptively answer him, but Sherlock only became even more emotional once John pulled away. “Will this be the only time?”

“No, no, no. We’ll do this all the time.” John stroked the inside of one of Sherlock’s wrists with his thumb, and was filled with wonder by the electric rush it sent through Sherlock’s body down to his arousal and thighs. John knew he was already leaking into Sherlock; he resented acutely that the tension building inside him had none of the elegance and generosity of Sherlock’s ADAM. “Sherlock… Why do you call me Mr Bubbles, when you know by now… that I am John?”

The query caught Sherlock by surprise. “Because… I…” But then the young man shook his head.

John would have none of that. He thrust more deeply into Sherlock, sliding wetly in and out of his beloved.

Sherlock whimpered, and some green ADAM pooled temptingly at his tip. “Because I’m too small to call you John now! I’m not big enough anymore! I can’t call you John, but I can call you Mr B, oh, please, please, I can still be your Little One, the best Little One there ever was! I can be that for you!”

“I like both names, Sherlock,” John murmured. “And you are always big enough for me… Do you understand me? You are Sherlock Holmes… my partner. You can call me… whatever you want to…”

Sherlock shook his head fiercely. “But I’m not—”

“Sherlock, you brilliant madman, can’t you see that nothing’s changed?”

“But I’ve become a child, I know I have—!”

John brought the small wrists together under one hand, and let his other open palm descend to stimulate his husband’s ADAM-crowned need.

“Oh, yes, but, that’s not right, oh, I can’t, I’m too small—”

“You’re Sherlock Holmes!” John beamed encouragingly. “My clever, beautiful partner!” 

Startled, Sherlock gasped, “John?” A laugh escaped his small, excited body. “John!”

The weight of John’s entire life exploded inside of his soul. He couldn’t understand it any more than he could contain it. He shared it with Sherlock through a loyal, promising kiss, as he continued his sultry dance with him to the nostalgic music, which strangely and sweetly and unbearably likened this joining of souls to their first time, so many years ago and yet also recreated here in this painfully magnificent closeness with his beloved.

**

When Mycroft came to visit his long-lost brother in the morning, he found that Sherlock was busy listening to an audio diary. Sherlock was on the deck, nestled in the doctor’s arms. The two of them were looking out at the ocean together, while they listened to the doctor’s recorded voice. Both Sherlock and the doctor were wearing tuxedos but had bare feet.

Mycroft had discovered that morning that a possession of his had been taken, and he was more than itching to complain self-righteously to both his dear brother and the doctor, but little Sherlock didn’t say a word to him as he approached. Mycroft came to stand behind them, and wondered about the recording, given by a self-proclaimed Dr John Watson about the most mundane details of Rapture and of a relationship that was very near and dear to him.

Perhaps there was something to be learned from his brother and his brother’s Big Daddy. If this child-image of Sherlock had discovered how to have such a perfect bond with the doctor, then—the abominable sin of such a love not withstanding—the truth was that Sherlock was an ally that Mycroft desperately needed. 

Of course, there was still that other reason for which Mycroft needed Sherlock—the real reason that Mycroft had took such troubles to rescue him and his dear friend from Rapture. It was obvious that, having been made into a Little Sister, Sherlock must produce ADAM somewhere in his tiny body. Mycroft was keen on  obtaining that valuable substance for use by the British government. The only hangup was that the method of safe extraction of ADAM from Sherlock’s body remained a mystery to Mycroft; even so, he did not doubt that Dr John Watson would supply to him the answer when the time for that came.

End.


End file.
